


Ways I Love You

by CaptainTsukiko



Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: Drama, Humour, M/M, Romance, okay lets just add every single genre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-06-08 03:54:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 5,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6838063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainTsukiko/pseuds/CaptainTsukiko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snapshots of the (totally glorious) domestic life of Takaba Akihito as Asami Ryuichi's wife— erm, freeloader.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Elevator

**Author's Note:**

> woah that's a fuckin cheesy ass title there 
> 
> Finally wrote something that does not start out as my next suicide note. And it's multi chaptered. You know what time its for?
> 
> Abandonment boner.
> 
> (Because seriously at the beginning of every fic I'm like: yeah-this-fic-gonna-be-this-and-that-and-it's-gonna-be-EPIC and then I end up never finishing it. Cos I'm a lazy asshole. This is why I never write more than 3 chapters and I'm disappointed in my inability to commit.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And kids, the moral of the story is; Asami Ryuichi is a bastard!

You really hadn't expected this. Your luck to be so fucking bad.

It was late morning when you woke up. You had silently and openly cursed Asami, and tried convincing yourself that yes indeed, you needed another apartment. Running out the door a mouth full of bread with half worn shirt and a relaxed Asami in tow hadn't helped the time. Already late for the shoot - you needed to hurry, and you really desperately wished that time would stop right fucking then.

And then this happened. Today out of _any. goddamn. day._ The elevator got stuck.

You look at your watch through its broken glass. And the sight doesn't please you.

_Oh shit._

“Can't you, uh, talk to the manager? Something? Anything?”

“It'll be...” Asami checks his watch (like he even needs to, the pretentious jerk) “twenty more minutes until he comes.” You stomach drops and you wish you could fling Asami's posh smoke out of his damn mouth. He leans back, staring right back at you.

The staring contest drills facts into your mind - just give up. And you do, you lean back like him and sigh. You're trying to find the ropes of your positivity; and you find it very, very hard.

You jump as you feel a feather-touch at the back of your neck. Widening your eyes, you look at the only occupant.

Maybe its accidental: you think, maybe he's not messing with you for one damn time. And there it is again. Another touch to the back of your jeans, right down under where your ass meets your thigh. An involuntary shiver raises gooseflesh on you. For someone who attempted to stare you into submission for accusing him of making you late; you're sure you wouldn't want to let him get off of this.

“—Okay! That one was definitely intentional. Knock it off!”

Before you can do anything, his hands have already reached the back of your neck.

His murmur traces sparks straight up and between your thighs:

“You assumed the others were _accidental?_ ”

He's still palming your neck, circling the area with those warm hands. You're nerves calm, finding your earlier outburst rather like a ruffled cat's. And you're sure there's a smirk on his lips and he's thinking the same.

God bless this bastard.


	2. Blackmail Material

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Listen to me guys; this is important fucking advise, don't mess with Takaba Akihito in a verbal fight. He probably has your porn stash as blackmail material.

“No, no and no. Just 'cause you're turning out to be a cheerless, ageing old man for the rest of your life, doesn't mean that this,” you point to your achievement “is meaningless.”

A bud sits innocently in its pot - pointed, dark and proud in its Cacti branches. Fruit of months' of hard work.

“This is the first flower of the year. Do you understand through that brainy thick head of your how important that is?”

“Good job on that but; I see no reason,” Asami tips his head back, as if recalling the amount of wiring and rigging you did that morning. There's an air of contained laughter around him, “to put up camera lights all over the house just to take a picture you're going to post on Instacup.” You can feel your face heat up, eyes shooting glares fuelled by the sheer knowledge of how wrong that logic is and _okay that's it let's just fucking kill him--_

“It's called Instagram, you... How the hell are all my friends gonna know all my hard work if I don't take a great photo and have you even seen my full kit? This is not even fucking half of it.”

“That logic makes no sense.”

Then there's that silence. With nothing to say and too tired to defend yourself - defeat tastes like sandpaper. The crinkling of paper turns a bit too loud for your pride. And so the last retort:

“Oh I don't know, maybe it's because someone here just decided to walk blindly and trip on his arrogant ass?” you smirk, “then got absolutely butt hurt about it.”

“...”

“I have it recorded if you want proof.”

On that thought; the option to blackmail comes to mind.


	3. Complicated People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Complicated people are, well, hard to handle. (By hard to handle I mean: I'd like to slit their throats with a knife but I can't because 'conscience.') 
> 
> But if that complicated person is Liu Feilong; then sorry to say but, you're pretty much fucked.

“How the fuck did you get my Skype address?”

“Oh I don't know,” you're not really sure if Feilong's trying to be funny or he's just mad, “maybe its because someone decided to accept me in your friends list _by their own will._ ”

You blink at him.

“No, no - that is so not true.” He starting to laugh at your flaming face, tiny diamonds of teeth and sound through red lips that you're definitely not staring at. “You're the one who threatened to overflow my apartment with flowers if I didn't do it. And tell me; who's the one who sent expensive pieces of shit that I'd never probably use at my agency every single day? My boss thinks I entertain crazy rich older women thanks to you.” You purse your lips, “my reputation is ruined.”

He moves like a cat. (Slow and lazy - as if trying not to scare, you think. He still thinks of you like an obedient child wrapped in naïveté.) Hair falling across his forehead like black water. And you, then and there, want push it behind it his ear - there's frustration mixed in there somewhere but it doesn't bother you that much anymore.

“Isn't getting expensive gifts a good thing?” He paused. “I'm certain you'd be happy if _Asami_ sent those to you.”

Foul memories resurfaced, and you willed yourself to not shatter the computer to pieces.

Maybe Feilong's so hard to handle because of his competitive, prideful nature. Or maybe because he's like one of those sassy masochistic girlfriends you see in dramas; those bitter kind that never forget their rivals, refusing to accept the fact that the past is simply wind that have misplaced their life for a second.

Either way; you seriously wanna punch him in the nuts.

“Feilong...”

“Oh by the way, have you been using the techniques I taught you?" He smirks, like he's placing ownership on you. Something catches your eye that you didn't notice before. A stark contrast to his pale complexion is the flush that you'd never seen before. (Is this guy fucking drunk? What the heck.)

“I'm sure... they're working just as _exquisitely_ as I assume.”

That hiss creates a strange pressure in your body. You close your eyes and will it away (because let's face it this is ultimately gonna boost Feilong's gigantic ass ego if I react and I seriously don't want to do that shit. For fuck's sake--)

“I swear Asami and you are absolutely the same,” You say.

“—Don't insult me in that way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, anonymous people that I'll probably never meet in real life. I'm the one who writes this thing. And I'd like to apologise.
> 
> I put out this with a deceptive title - I shouldn't necessarily call this story "ways I love you" but "the times Takaba got owned by Asami and owned him back and then got owned back again" ...but that'd be a little too long. And my ego doesn't like it. 
> 
> Please keep that in mind, and excuse this buttery title which clashes with the summary. I shouldn't have done this in the first place, since its a multi-chapter fic, but... It seems I'm incapable of making good decisions.


	4. Helping Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 80% of my life involves me making a blank face at someone— Asami Ryuichi, the Book of Super Semes.

Sorting stuff is boring.

Scratching behind your ears, you look at the time. Your hands instinctively reach up to stifle a yawn. Cooking is more fun, you think as you palm all your stuff. There's two boxes beside you; named with angry writing 'things that I wanna use', 'things I wish I'd use', 'things I don't even need.'

There's a pile of stuff to be sorted. And it's fucking midnight.

Crochets? don't need. Nikon batteries? Need. Buncha Cat fur? What the heck.

Along the lines somewhere, you start humming a tune you wish you'd forget. It's from Some kind of 90's album, you don't know. But if you start humming in middle of shoot - it's gonna be a problem... Though for now, it gives a peace and ignorance from the figure on the couch.

“Hey!”

Asami is still... observing. (His words, not yours.)

How does one even work with people watching - you'd never know. “If you're just gonna sit and stare like a creep, can you please just help me the fuck out? It's...” You try to recall your short vocabulary. You'd call him creepy; but Asami is creepy all the time. “It's getting, well, disturbing.”

A smile tells that its exactly the invitation the jerk's been waiting for. He treads up to you, looking at all the junk strewn around his marble floor.

“What is this...?”

“Charity work.”

A blink. Two blinks. Three blinks before his eyes widen just that tiny bit. You make a face at him - and before you can yell at his weird face the implication drop your head stone cold. Maybe it's because he grew up a rich, evil kid that never got to interact with the thing called life; or maybe its because he's just a jerk. But Asami... Could it be?

“You know, the thing you should do if you wanna be a normal guy?” He stares, so you try again. “The thing you do when you have too many unnecessary things and wanna give 'em away but also be, uh, you know, _kind?”_

The same stare.

It's something between surprise and _why the fuck would you do even do that?_ It sends shivers down your neck. Becoming increasingly harder to look at without feeling despair for the whole human race. You don't know what's worse; that Asami doesn't do charity or he doesn't know what charity work is for. (You pick both.)

“Come on you're gonna do it right fucking now.” So you pull him towards his closet with all the intention of hunting in his garden of suits.

That night, the sinful 'bachelor' Asami became a little less sinful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even though the rules of Super Semes say that this scenario is impossible 'cos the semes are innately super geniuses, and they possibly couldn't miss any facts. But my ego says that rules are there to be broken.


	5. I Know Who You Did Last New Years'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Koh is the curious cat who never got killed, and Takato is literally a god.

“So that's what happened?”  _Really?_

Koh has always been the smart one out of the three of you. Always getting you off of trouble, always scheming, the one who plans when Takato's wife would go away so you all can party. But at this moment; you wish he was a bit dumber. You don't want him to be the detective.

(Cause only god can save you if they find out. If they find out; the other friends find out and if those loudmouths find out, then your career, or what is left of it, is pretty much fucked.)

“A-ah,” you really can't recognise your own voice, “Of course! Yeah! Why wouldn't it...?”

You give a 100 watt grin.

(Please work, you pray, please work.)

Koh doesn't look convinced, but then again he never does. (And even if you don't want to succumb to the negative; you fucked up badly this time. Actually, it's not even your fault. Why the fuck did Asami even pick you up in the first goddam place it its all his fault and you'll definitely show what 'hardship' is to him when you get back-)

Before Koh can continue with his suspicions and confused theories, Takato pats you in the back.

“Hey, Koh, did you already forget we're here to party?" He takes a sip of his own Saké, so much more lighter than your own Sochu. "Must've been a colleague or something, just _forget it.”_ (Oh, he did it. Takato just threw the shade at Koh. Could it be that he's learning a thing or two from his wife?) At that moment; you're really thankful that Takato, however clueless and dumb and all the things associated with the word 'idiot,' is your friend.

You almost cry from relief.

And though Koh tries to bring that topic up several times more that night, even he settles to the persistent goodness that is Takato.

(And you definitely did show Asami what hardship was by feeding him salty Nikujaga for dinner. Satisfaction never tasted so sweet; because he ate it all with little more than a blank face.)

Takato is a god - you decide that day.


	6. Summertime Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There will always be those people that wear sweaters in summer and are being all cool and graceful, while you're sweating like a dog thinking: "that's witchcraft."
> 
> A.K.A Asami goddamn Ryuichi.

Your eyes bulge.

“What the heck are you even wearing!?”

Summer. Summer is the itch between your legs and sweat stains that you can never get rid off. And summer is when you stubbornly snuggle with your... partner even when its more than 39 degrees. (Really, what does one even call Asami Ryuichi in a situation such as yours.)

Summer. The happiest days of your life.

You've always been that one kid to throw off your sweater earlier than anyone in the class, and then laugh at them 'cause they're a bunch of pussies and you have no time for them. It's good to be the popular kid, in those situations. Easier to manipulate people.

“...Clothes?” Duh.

It seems the habit stuck with you to adulthood. There's no need to fight it, even now. And so, your latest victim, Asami, thinks.

“Don't you, y'know, feel hot?” Asami comes home at the middle of the night, first ruins your sleep and then you have heat up the food; and now this..? Who wears turtle necks or full suits - in the middle of the fucking summer? Goddamnit, he'll get a stroke like that... And then die. And even though it's better for your physical and mental sanity if that happens... There's always that "but" that doesn't settle well in your stomach.

“No.”

...what.

“Liar.” You point a finger at him, stopping any retorts. “And even if you deny that you're not a pretentious freak, I still wouldn't believe you because: biology. You expect me believe that you wearing turtle-necks like a fucking nutcase in the middle summer has everything to do with looking cool?” He looks at you, amused as your hands flail. “Well, that's never happening.”

Asami gives you that look, one you'd give to a naïve child (he does that a lot; come to think of it) as if your outburst doesn't even matter, “I like wearing it.” You're a teeny little thing in his eyes, you know. "And its requires me to be professional at all times.” He snickers.

“You wouldn't happen to... understand.”

Oh; you understand all right.

He's fucking with you. Of course he is. The bastard's fucking with you, that slime ball piece of mouldy lettuce—

“To hell with your professionalism. Do it for the sake of my sanity 'cause even looking at you makes me hot!” Interesting choice of words, dip-shit. 

He raises a pristine brow, he's thinking the same.

You fume. Not going down this time, you decide, it's annoying to see him cool as a cucumber whole you sweat like a popsicle. A Hawaiian tee shirt, you'll make him wear.

“I'm gonna _burn_ those sweaters if you don't change.”

And he knows you will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In celebration of reaching omg all those hits goal; I'm confessing that I've cursed more in this fic that I have did my entire life.
> 
> It's... very awkward.


	7. Makeup is All Solving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Concealer's for covering up... things. Testosterone heavy loveable idiot fucks like Suoh just won't understand.

Suoh's brows furrowed. It wasn't often he worried of how to avoid emotions on his face, it comes naturally to him. But when he does...

it's about people like Takaba Akihito.

Asami-sama has a whole team behind this runt. Keep his schedule, follow him, report about whatever he did that day. It seems simple. The problem is; it just seems simple. The target is more often than not... uncooperative. Not that one would expect a wild cat like that to compliantly let someone follow him around to strange places, but it'd be much smoother if Takaba didn't take actions against them.

Suoh is not sure what to say when he finds two of his men's arms broken and one's knee fractured. Except to take up the job himself.

“Today's report, Suoh?”

(Kirishima has no expression on his face, as usual. But Suoh knows better than to not observe for finer details. The guy's pissed - he thinks with a shiver, and with that set mouth... This is not going to go well.)

And he certainly does not know what to say when he sees Takaba Akihito going into a makeup store. To hide, ehem, _kiss marks?_ To buy gifts for a girl?

To look... pretty?

“Takaba Akihito is turning into a woman.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow this is officially the shortest chapter I've ever written  
> Thanks for all the support!


	8. Syrup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is literally no way to eat a Popsicle without looking like you're giving a tease. And as always, you can count on Asami to get the wrong idea (and have the galls to proceed with it.)

A beach show. You and him, not quite alone, sitting in sleepy little chairs, enjoying the day-glo of fireworks. 

When Takaba first held that pastel blue Popsicle, you knew you're in trouble.

Angling his face towards you with an impish fire in his eyes, licking the small drips of syrup from his lips- his dirty little smile hidden. You look down at him, standing outside; sweating and in public, wasn't such a good idea. He catches your eyes, and a pink tongue darts out to wrap around the tip.

You can't look away.

A wild cat with nine lives, you think, always landing on his feet wants to land.

(Must you be masochistic in this situation? You're being dragged to the depths of hell. That metaphor, you consider a second later, is incorrect. What a delicious hell it is.)

He takes a sharp intake as syrup drips down his chin, and you take the chance to eat at him with your eyes - gulping down the surprised smugness - then take his chin into your mouth. Ravishing; caressing and biting it. So much damp, sweet smelling skin - _everywhere._

And then were his lips; a mischievous tongue and the smoothness of teeth.

“Ah...”

Does it arouse you? Your hands move to the collar of his Yukata and under it, does anything else excite you like this? A clawed hand slips into your sweat coated hair, and You know the answer in the reluctant groans he gives you.

_Yes. Yes it does._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you perverts have been waiting for this since this fic started


	9. Cigar Expectations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takaba doesn't smoke. Nope. Not at all. He's a 'civilised person' of the society now. There's no way-- Alright, maybe it was that one, teeny little smoke. Or two. Nothing too serious. Okay; maybe it wasn't just one time. Maybe a couple of times here and there—but only when drunk! Only when... Ahh... Fuck it.
> 
> ...Takaba's trying, people. Respect it.

 “—Do you want anything?” Asami says.

Some advice: If you're a smoker, and and you want to die quicker (than you already are going to) - go ahead and smoke some cigars. That'll hook you right up. Along with all of your money, that is.

“No.” You plunge a knife though the apple, “Nothing at all.”

At least that's what you think. Setting aside your less than mentionable past and your flourished criminal records, you like to consider yourself a recovered addict. (If that's even a thing, for you. According to your dictionary, there is no such thing as addiction so there's no cure either. Just the ability to push the impulse away.)

Remember, you think; eyes still regrettably stuck on his hand, remember all the consequences of smoking you pathetic shit.

So it definitely _does not_ bother you to have Asami smoke around you. And you definitely _are not_ tempted when he smirks when he catches you looking at him and turns just that slight bit towards you so that the cigar's in full view. You don't feel anything except all running a list of all the consequences if you reach to the siren - and the small thought that it goes perfectly well with Asami's _'fear me commoners I'm a crime boss with a cravat'_ image.

It become natural, having Asami scent the with his smoke. Expected even.

But once a Yanki, always a Yanki - your high school gang was a little too intense in enforcing that. But seriously, who the fuck agrees with that shit anymore.

“Nope.” You shake your head at the thought.

But that cigar... You gulp a large clump down. Oh my god how much did that even cost? You're clearly mesmerised and you're fooling yourself. A regret laced snort.

_Fuck this shit.  
_

“Asami.” The sound of chopping pervades the room.

“Mm?”

“What...” You clear your throat, glancing anywhere but at Asami. “What brand is that?” A Yanki doesn't have much to lose, even a former one. Fancy smokes are to be admired and savoured. Surely one long-long pull wouldn't be too much?

He looks at you skeptically for a second.

You forget sometimes that he even knows how many strands there are on your head. The dirty stalker. You glower, face set in a hard line and about to just forget the whole incident together—

And then he smiles, teasing in the way he holds the cigar to you:

“Go ahead and find out.”

You grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure Asa-chan's just leeching for an indirect kiss


	10. Bills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One does not simply make Takaba their (slave) shopper and expect their pockets to not be empty at the end of the month.

“Now,” you point a finger at him; as professional and serious as you can be, “do you understand your job?”

You tighten your hand around the list, and you summon all the courage you have to look at him in the face. You face guarded. And a small part of you realises that there is virtually no reason to prepare for war, it's laughable - you quickly dismiss it because it's not needed in this tense mindset.

_It's that time of the month again._

Time to go grocery shopping.

In the middle of goddamn holiday season.

Yon repress a shiver.

Asami looks at you. And you know he's thinking: why don't we just send someone to do this shit and go have sex or something. You can't agree more (with the former, _not_ the latter.) But the problem is; knowing his men, they will probably kill a thousand or so people if they are sent in that hellhole of a market.

(...And how the hell will you say that you need condoms. Worst case scenario is probably that they will keep a straight face and actually have the indecency to _go along with it._ )

“The plan is simple,” you say, but don't quite feel, “be calm. Grab things quickly and never move away from the line.”

“Hm.”

“Don't 'hm' me. This is important strategy, pay some attention. Probably worth ten of your lives! Do you understand?”

“...Is there any specific instructions other than...” He runs a quick sweep over the list in your hand, “that?”

You stop.

Those eyes caress over you. They are liquid fire are hung through your soul. It's an ambiguously simple look, filled with that heated impassivity that he does so well. It keeps you too-aware, too-tingly and... a feeling that you will not look into. You avert your eyes. 

“Not... Really. I don't have my phone on me, so... just don't let go of my hand.”

His eyes gleam. 

“I see.”

He can't be anymore trusted than you on booze, and you don't have anyone else to help you out either. Damn the agency, damn Christmas shopping, damn everything. If only Christmas shopping could be done without all these... people. Even the positivity in you threatens to break into an angry rant. You grunt and turn to enter the dreaded market.

The crowd is overflowing already.

So it ends.

.

“UsGrab that, and yeah, grab this and that too. And we need this. While you're at it, help me get the fondant.”

Asami is already getting to work at lightening speed, you try not to get creeped out by all the women who gawk at you two. “And go get those onions, by the way - _no._ Not the red ones, I hate those. The green stalky ones. Do you want bitter melon for dinner? Put that in the basket too.”

Asami looks like he's going to die suppressing a laugh. And you glower at him, by this point you're not even looking at the list anymore. It's long done and over with, along with other three baskets worth of stuff that you're probably gonna finish within a minute.

Even glancing at it makes you call yourself several kinds of idiot. You think it's not really your fault, just having Asami go with you shopping makes you go crazy. (Along with all the other things that happen to you that are totally, solely Asami's fault.) The displays are cool, the vegetables are fresh and after having to restrain your budgets for so long in your life; it's no wonder how good it feels to be able to pin the bill on someone else and just let go.

You sneer at the fondant.

After all, it's not you who's eating all of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for this dork, I simply forget sometimes that I have a life outside of exams, classes and watching porn.


	11. Devilish Sulking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure Asami thinks I'm born to be in his kitchen— Takaba Akihito, Diary of a Tragic Uke.

You can see the LED lights of Shiodome from the hotel windows. Bright - they are likely to on the whole night and more. Ruins of the of the evening starts to settle into a deep silvery haze, making them even brighter.

You might want to shut the blinds off, tomorrow's skirmish requires a clear disposition, and an alert heart. But that is yours alone to know. A set of offset deals were being made in your domain. You're not sure if you should call the perpetrators heroically brave or heroically stupid.

It's amusing, in a way.

As they wouldn't even realise their deaths as a bullet shoots though through the grey matter with which they thought to bring their own doom with.

The wine burns through your throat. (And a high pitched, childishly sweet voice in your memories remind you that only idiots drink before bed.) The knee-jerk thought makes you sigh.

Who knows what that... brat is up to.

Is he getting beaten into an alley or making dinner that you'll never taste - the former choice is more believable but for you pr sanity's sake you'd rather believe the latter.

...really, even the thought that you'd do that even sours your good mood. Can't think of the former, can't believe the latter. This is what it's called being between the devil and the endless sea.

Springs creak; it's hot even though the AC is on full blast and the bed is too uncomfortable for a five star hotel. You turn over, feeling too much like a cooking fish and too little like a leader. Hands caress over the cold silk covers as you drift so close to sleep but not.

 _“So.. hateful.”_ You mutter. “Sulking like a child—”

You make a mental list to not ever sleep in an empty bed (or leave Takaba back at home - alone; too much trouble) again. The consequences outlast the reasons.

The bed becomes too cold and big for your tastes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I'm so amazed by the awesomeness of the fact that all my files just decided to auto delete themselves. I... I like android better than iOS. Also, Lightings of Shiodome happen around Christmas in Tokyo. So you can count Asami as one crazy mofo
> 
> In celebration of reaching 100+ kudos: I solemnly swear I didn't know that "business as usual" existed before I started this drabble... (I feel kind of stupid now)


	12. Cute As a Button

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No matter how much money you spend on a suit; it's guaranteed 9 out of 10 that a button will snap someday. So you're basically just getting owned by your clothes over and over. 
> 
> ...And this is exactly why everyone in this world should wear tie-dyes and khakis, I think.

In the Asami household— ahh, in _Asami's apartment_ , mornings are usually lazy, careful (to not awake the other occupant) and laced with a bit of disgust.

...Okay; maybe a _lot_ more than a bit. Seriously, who isn't goddamn disgusted when there is crusty remnants cum sticking to their thighs and god knows where else.

Yuck.

But the routine works out fine in the end. Though as far as fate-the-bitch goes, there will always be that one day when all burns with... inconveniences. To be subtle.

“Argh—” a groan tears from your hoarse throat. You hands fling and turn your Hawaiian tee's and all those... disgusting things (that aren't even fit to be called pants anymore. Yuck.) “Ha! _There_ it is.” You hold up the sweater to inspect it for stains or smells. Lunch with models need to be taken seriously, so even if the plethora of tie-dyed shirts are so very attractive; you can't wear them on a date of all things.

...that feels like a death sentence somehow.

But on the bright side—you don't have to wear the light blue sweaters for too long. Momohara Ai must have a busy schedule.

“Oi Asami! You done yet?” You button your shirt down grumbling how it's restrictive waiting for someone to dress up. "...seriously they should ban these things called dress codes. They're troublesome and do absolutely no good—" You strut to the kitchen, grabbing the apron with a slightly careless swish.

You can just feel Asami's voice preaching in your mind: it wouldn't be so inconvenient if you had more of the clothes normal humans wear.

...You don't pay too much attention to it. Or at least, you try to through the sure-fiery signs of a vein twitching in your forehead.

“Ah.”

“Did you spill something? 'Cause I'm definitely not cleaning it up!” You snap, and then scowling at yourself for being angry by your own thoughts, your voice drops, “what did you do?”

He puts his chopsticks down onto the ceramic holder (graceful; so graceful it's annoying) holding his cost close for inspection. He glances at you though lashes, as though you should know what's up.

“The button,” he gestures - completely innocent, “it snapped.”

You open your mouth with a gasping groan.

“You sure you didn't tug at it?” It's very hard imaging him iggy get at a button like a kid, but still. You leave the pot and gesture got him to give you the green-brown coat. You pull at the khaki strings, stringing away the loose button. Heh - even High-end fashion doesn't have that much stability, do they? Pity. “How're you going to wear this?”

“I'm not.” Asami turns to sit up, “I'm getting another.”

(Wait for me, he doesn't say. Of course not.

That makes you frown for some reason.)

“Let's have a deal,” you tug at his arm. You can see your reflection in his gaze, wide and shiny. Like a coin. “If I fix this within a minute...” There's a excited ring in that sentence. You can hear it, so he can too. “This belongs to me. Deal?” Yes, it's probably ridiculously big on you, and yes, it's probably flashy as fuck - but still; its Asami Ryuichi's coat and... You stop.

He says it simply, a strange lilt to his tone as if he was concealing laughter. And possibly more-

...you must be going mad if you're starting to think that way.

“Deal.”

A sweet smell wafts by your nose even though there aren't any sources. You go dizzy for a moment, palpitations forcing too much oxygen in.

“...”

Tea, rice, dashimaki eggs and a whole lot of bitter melon that Asami likes - that's what home looks like.

...really, you must be going mad. That, you know.

(What you don't know is that a box with all those fancy-ass decorations that you hate sit at the bottom of his closet; wrapped preciously in silk - waiting to be opened by your careful hands on your birthday.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what dashimaki eggs mean, do you like, cook it with dashi or do you fry it in dashi (how does one even fry things in broths) 
> 
> ...it's very hard to crack jokes right now.


	13. End of Discussion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aye yo, where them rings at?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 99.9% of my thoughts involve cursing someone to hell; you can imagine how I'm doing. 
> 
> Dark thoughts aside... This is done! Yeah! (Let's quickly break out the champagne because I know I'm never getting so many kudos on another story xp) turns out that I AM capable of finishing at least something. (Though that might be because this is a snapshot series... But it was very hard because seriously where else was I going to find those italicised quotation marks? I had to copy paste them ONE BY ONE.) 
> 
> I'm pretty sure this will be the last of fics for a long, long time. Reality - And of course watching porn - is my reluctantly-accepted priority. BYE!

Sometimes you forget your partner is half your age.

“Seriously—” Takaba makes this... hilarious flailing noodley gesture with his fingers, “who, sir, enters a goddamn Japanese restaurant holding hands?! You're unworthy of being called Japanese. You heathen; at least show respect for the public!” He scoffs. “I'm starting to think you never learn. Even I, yes I, get tired you know.” The cutlery tinkles from abrupt force of a smack on the table.

The sip of whisky burns your tongue, scalding your throat at it slides down.

“...Not really true, though.” Hushed conversations pervade the air. You look at him through this haze. “Isn't it?”

He flushes, you lean back.

Some things don't change, after all. Not when it comes to him anyway. “Don't you try to distract me,” his voice tremors, almost hissing. “Do you think everyone thinks like you? They don't. Accept that. There's a word for it; it's called bigotry.” He must've learnt that word recently. Your lips curl into a sneer. “Most people don't think that's okay!”

“Really... they do. You just live under a rock.” You say. And it reaches the desired affect. He comes alive with offended shock.

“Why you--”

Years don't make a difference for him. He stays the same.

Or rather, something like that.

There's that similarity between you two: years don't matter. They don't change you, don't make a new man out of Asami Ryuichi. (...Or do they? You don't care about personalities much. You swear you knew how to not be influenced once.)

But years do change relations; ardor. Your watch him all the time, watch him in his happiness, watch him sigh when he thinks you're not looking and see the way he looks at the ones under the mistletoe - their fingers shining with a diamond encrusted... lock. There's no better word, really. Do you want that thing? The words stop at the tongue; you already know the answer.

_This bright..._

_young..._

_...thing._

A boy offers a glass of champagne to Takaba. He doesn't notice the silver gleam from the bottom of the fine glass.

Physical reality cannot satisfy desires of the mind. At his age, it's strange to say, you were conquering all the abnormals of the word - chain free. With sun flowing in his veins, he doesn't deserve that. Freedom is in his bones; not you.

Not you.

Anything but you.

Light reflects from your cufflinks and onto his face. “My friends think I'm selling drugs or murdering people or some thing. Do you realise how much effort I give to just cover for you? The risks?” He thanks the waiter, and takes sips.

(That's it - and your heart slows.)

You know the risks he takes. And it makes you proud, selfishly proud that he still stays. Over his career, over his freedom.

Over his life.

Convince yourself as you may: that you can keep him. Unaware of the cage, unaware of what you can't give to him, aware of the things you can give him.

You can give this to him.

And so, you take him to one of those restaurants that he hates, where there is more rich perverts than there is good food. His words, not yours. You quite like its view and smoking rooms.

That boy, that man, rambles with his mouth in tight line. And for the first time, you're not listening to any of it. You're too busy zeroing on to finding where exactly the ring is or did he he gulp it down along with the wine? You despair until you hear it clink against thin glass.

(Is it just you or are you a little... frozen?)

Whose idea was this again? Remind me not to take that Chinese brat's advice ever again. Nothing good could come out of taking Liu Feilong seriously. Unless you are a masochist and want pain. In a situation in which you can't even warn Takaba not to gulp the ring down or stay still. You glare at nothing.

“What?” Takaba notes the glare, “did I say something?” What _didn't_ he say?

_Curse you, Feilong._

...You definitely hear an evil laugh coming from somewhere.

It gives an innocent clink once more, cutting off further sips of champagne. And he finally (finally!) notices, corners of his eyes crease and zeroing in on the fine glass in front of his face. He probably can't see anything from up top, you muse. (Or try to.)

He swirls the glass, the ring makes a sound noise.

“Eh...?”

He reached tentatively into the glass with a spoon. Your stomach gives an unlikely lurch. His confused gaze shifts to you. You can't hear anything anymore.

“...come again?”

“You should go buy a white suit.”

You can't choose whether to fall gracefully unconscious or just throw up.

“You- We're getting married.” The silence encloses two exhales from you, two inhales from him. “Taka...?”

_一THUMP_

“Sirs?!”

The screech of a trolly and a harsh concerned cry of an attendant resounded.

.

And even though you didn't faint that day; he did so on the spot. You don't know if that's funny or not until the wedding day.

“Say 'Cheese!'”

When you crack a smile recalling, Takaba quietly finishes his last memory space by snapping a picture.


End file.
